


Mockery of Freedom

by heeroluva



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce had enough demons of his own to deal with without adding other peoples’ to the mix. That apparently doesn't stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mockery of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snack_size](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snack_size/gifts).



> Contains adverse prescription drug reaction, vague allusions to past child abuse, and mention of canon suicide attempt

Bruce wasn’t a people person, had never been the touchy feely, get in touch with your emotions sort even before the other guy had entered his life. After that, he had enough demons of his own to deal with without adding other peoples’ to the mix. It didn’t mean he didn’t notice them, the sleepless nights and excessive training from everyone who lived in the tower. Living in semi-close quarters with insomniacs made those sorts of things hard to miss.

Working with Tony had been enlightening, but in the end, while they both may have had a deep and abiding passion for science and learning, their loves were in vastly different areas. Bruce would admit to having missed it though, having someone to talk to about his research, someone who really cared, if the fact that every time he said he’d love to work on something but didn’t have the right equipment or software meant it magically appeared in his lab within the next day or so was any indication. While Bruce had heard that Tony was well known for throwing his money around, he knew that it was unlikely that Tony would build the machines or write the likes of the computer programs he gave to Bruce for just anyone. It was kind of nice.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of Steve, the Captain America from legend. Unlike most, Steve had never feared him. In most situations Bruce would have said that that made Steve stupid, but he knew it wasn’t false bravo or arrogance that drove Steve. He was a good man, but it was obvious at times that he was hurting, that he was lost and longing for the familiar. When Bruce had been ready to bolt, to run and lose himself in the world again, it had been Steve who had made him take pause, offered to train him, tried to befriend him. Bruce had been wary, still distrustful of SHIELD, and the only reason he’d finally agreed was because at least Steve could take a hit from the Hulk if worst came to worse. To Bruce’s surprise, it had helped. Not with his anger, but it made him feel more like a person again, not just a science experiment gone wrong.

Months later, Natasha was still leery of him, her attention focused completely on him though she pretended otherwise whenever she noticed he was in the room. Bruce couldn’t blame her; most individuals would have run from him, had run from him, and tried to kill him. He really didn’t fault them. When he apologized, the last thing he’d expected was for Natasha to offer to teach him mediation. Bruce knew the fundamentals, had studied with others in his attempt to keep the other guy at bay, but he never quite found the promised zen.

Maybe it was the balance he’d found with the Hulk in New York City when fighting against the Chitauri, his desires for once completely coinciding with the other guy’s, or maybe it was Natasha’s own startling calm that helped him find his own. It wasn’t a fix all, it didn’t _cure_ him (something he wasn’t so sure he needed anymore), but it helped if only as a placebo. The anger was still his constant companion, but it was becoming a state of being rather than something to fight against, to ignore and push away. That’s what led to problems. Some things couldn’t be run from.

It was Clint who stumped Bruce, spending an inordinate amount of time in Bruce’s lab, always watching him. Clint rarely talked, made himself unimposing and kept out of the way; it might have been better on Bruce’s nerves if Clint kept up the endless prattle that spilled from his mouth around the others because either way he was a distraction that Bruce just couldn’t ignore.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of Clint’s quiet. He didn’t know much about Clint other than he was a SHIELD agent and had a weird obsession with his bow and high places. Maybe Clint had been assigned to watch him, but Bruce didn’t think so, imagining that they’d do it in a more covert and less obtrusive way (not that Bruce didn’t think that Clint and Natasha would tell SHIELD everything if they asked… not that there was much of anything to tell).

The biggest surprise was that the other guy didn’t seem interested in his stress, didn’t see Clint or any of the others as a threat. If anything, Clint was a curiosity, and Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of that; it messed up all his data that the other guy could feel anything but rage, made him question what he knew about himself.

It was rare for the others to visit his lab, but when they did, Bruce would glance over to what he’d dubbed Clint’s Corner, and he’d just be gone. It was strange. It was even stranger to glance over one day and find Clint apparently asleep. It was such a small thing, but it was like a punch to the gut and left Bruce reeling. It was the first time that someone who’d known what he was and what he was capable of had fallen asleep in his presence. He knew he was likely reading too much into it, but he couldn’t help it.

His research forgotten, Bruce focused his attention on Clint, noting the way his hands twitched, his muscles tense. This wasn’t a good sleep nor a restful one. A small sound escaped Clint’s mouth, something Bruce likely would have missed had he not been focused on him. He wouldn’t have missed the way that the ever-dexterous Clint fell off his stool as he jerked in his sleep. He wasn’t sure which one of them was more shocked when Clint’s eyes finally focused on him.

Bruce also wasn’t sure if the flush that spread across Clint’s face was from embarrassment or anger, but Clint was on his feet and running, ignoring Bruce’s startled shout of, “Clint! Wait!”

Knowing he had his own issues to deal with didn’t stop Bruce from beginning to wonder. He knew what Loki had done to Clint in theory, had experienced the consequences of his actions first hand on SHIELD’s helicarrier, but he hadn’t given it much thought beyond that, hadn’t contemplated how it could affect the man. With a start, Bruce realized, it wasn’t so very different from his own experience with the Hulk at first, the loss of control, the guilt at his actions. At least Clint had someone else to blame but himself; Bruce wasn’t so lucky. Bruce let himself follow a train of thought he often didn’t allow himself to think about, shying away from what it said about him: did Clint miss it? Did he even remember enough of his actions for that?

There had been a couple times, early on after his first transformation that Bruce could have returned to himself, could have overcome the other guy, but he hadn’t. It had been easier to hide within the rage than to face the guilt and consequences of his actions. He wondered if that’s what Clint dreamt about, that mockery of freedom.

When Clint didn’t return the next day, it was hard to miss since Bruce knew that he wasn’t away on a mission. In fact, Bruce was annoyingly distracted by the lack of Clint’s presence in his labs. When the second day came and went, Bruce might have tried to be sly and asked Tony if he’d seen Clint.

“Check the range.”

That should have been obvious, and Tony’s all too knowing smile had told Bruce he’d failed as he quickly slipped away before Tony could start probing for details as he could never help himself.

It didn’t matter that Bruce knew he shouldn’t be doing this, that he didn’t need to get involved, but it was too late for that as he feet took him to the range. Bruce was silent as he slipped into the soundproofed and reinforced room, but the tense and pause between Clint’s shots despite the fact that his back was to Bruce, told him that his presence hadn’t been missed.

For once Bruce let himself watch. There was something fascinating about the pull of the string, the slight twang of the arrow as it was released and the thud as it hit the target dead center. The bunch and flex of Clint’s muscles, the smooth, fluid movements of his hands belied just how deadly the action could be. The rhythm was interrupted by a slight tremor in Clint’s hands, barely there, but enough that Clint missed the center by millimeters. Clint’s arm dropped, his hands fisting in frustration.

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no. He had no words of comfort, couldn’t profess worthless platitudes. There was nothing he could say that could possibly fix anything, not that he knew what needed fixed, or that it was his place to fix anything. There was nothing he could offer. Without a word, Bruce turned and left.

It was two more days before Clint showed up in Bruce’s lab again. The familiarity should have been a relief and the end of Bruce’s worry, but from the first slam of the door against the wall, Bruce knew something was wrong. Clint had never been anything less than courteously quiet when entering his lab.

During his time on the run, Bruce had seen his fair share of drug use in the slums he’d normally hid. If the sweat and tremors weren’t enough of an obvious sign, the dilated eyes and loose-limbed walk was. Bruce had no right to judge, was in no position to feel disappointed that Clint would turn to drugs, not after what Bruce himself had done when he’d been low, but it didn’t stop the feelings. “What did you take?” He couldn’t imagine that Clint would be dumb enough to overdose, but he hadn’t imagined the other man would resort to drugs either.

But Clint ignored the words, suddenly rushing forward, surprisingly fast.

Bruce’s heart rate jumped as Clint was suddenly in his space, and an alarm beeped as JARVIS so helpfully informed him: “Dr. Banner, your heart rate is dangerously high. If you do not calm down, I will be forced to inform Mr. Stark.”

Bruce knew that Tony had likely already been informed and ignored him as Clint suddenly pressed up against him. There was fear there and anger, but the other guy was surprisingly far away, rising for a fraction of a second, to assess the situation and then sinking back down again. When Clint pushed him back against the wall, Bruce yelped as his head hit it, but the sound was cut off as Clint’s lips were unexpectedly against his own.

As kisses went, it wasn’t the best Bruce had ever had, not even close. It was far too messy and uncoordinated for that. But it had been years, far too long since someone had touched him intimately, let alone in a way that wasn’t violent or worse, for experimentation, and for a moment Bruce couldn’t help but kiss back. Despite the way that Clint was holding his arms hard enough to bruise and knowing that Clint likely didn’t even want this, for one long moment Bruce allowed himself to forget everything.

It was only when Clint began thrusting against his hip and tugging at Bruce’s clothes that reality intruded again. The soft cock against his thigh was like a bucket of cold water on his libido and any interest he might have had died as the door suddenly opened revealing Tony in his Iron Man suit.

“Well this is awkward.” Tony was always great with stating the obvious. “JARVIS, please amend your monitoring: if Dr. Banner is having sex, please don’t call me unless he starts turning green.”

“Of course, sir.” JARVIS replied.

Bruce would swear the AI sounded amused. Pushing Clint away with more force than necessary, he went sprawling, his head hitting the counter behind him with a crack.

Scrambling forward onto his knees beside the prone man, Bruce exclaimed, “Shit,” as he helped him sit up.

The next few hours were spent with embarrassing retellings of the story as Tony spared no details. It quickly came to light that Clint had been prescribed valium by his therapist, but hadn’t taken any until last night. He was one of the few who had the opposite of the intended reaction to the medication. As reactions went, it could have been worse: they certainly didn’t need another Hulk running around. Thinking that Clint would resort to something illegal was just another thing for Bruce to feel guilty over.

After that Bruce locked himself in his lab, trying to forget about it, figuring he’d spare them both the embarrassment of an awkward encounter. He was sure that Clint would be happy to forget all about it.

It was Natasha who informed Bruce otherwise. It didn’t matter that she shouldn’t have been able to override his security; she was still there.

“He misses you.”

Bruce snorted. “He doesn’t know me well enough to miss me.”

Natasha raised one elegant brow at that. “You’d be surprised.” There was a pause. “I think you miss him too.”

Bruce’s hands froze over his keyboard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” When Natasha’s hand rested on his arm, he tensed, not having heard her move, waiting for pain.

“Dr. Banner, your heart rate is—”

“I know!” Bruce all but snarled, interrupting the ever-present AI.

Natasha’s fingers tightened, just this side of pain, and Bruce drew a deep, calming breath.

“You’re afraid.”

Bruce opened his mouth to deny it, but Natasha continued.

“You said you’re always angry, but you’re always afraid too, afraid of being hurt, afraid of being close to someone.”

“I’m afraid with good reason. People who get close to me get hurt. It’s better for everyone if I keep my distance,” Bruce snapped, attempting to pull away from her firm grip.

“You’ve changed three times in the tower since you’ve moved here. No one’s been hurt.”

“Tony spent hundreds of thousands on repairs. Thor still has bruises!” Bruce hissed, remembering the vivid rainbow that had covered the god’s torso.

“Tony has good insurance. Thor provoked you. He wanted to fight you.”

“That doesn’t excuse the damage.”

“So I should hold it against Steve for the bruises I get from him, or the bruises I leave on Clint when we train?”

Bruce shook his head. “Well, no, but that’s dif—”

“On the last mission, you didn’t hurt anyone. You saved a lot of people.”

“People still died!”

“Through no fault of your own.”

“If I hadn’t—”

“You need to stop trying to make up for the past.”

“Just like you aren’t doing this to make up for yours?” Bruce regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Natasha dropped her hand.

Bruce caught it again. “Natasha, I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“No, it’s the truth. I’ll never be able to make up for some of the things I’ve done, but I’ll never stop trying. Look, Bruce, just talk to him. You’re more alike than you think. It’s worth the risk. You won’t regret it.” With that, she pulled her hand away, turned, and left, bright hair bobbing with each sure step.

Turning, Bruce brought his hands down on the counter in anger, cursing as it jumped and cracked, sending delicate equipment flying to the floor with clatters and crashes. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t that brave. He wasn’t the kind of guy who walked into danger. That was the other guy, not him. But he was beginning to wonder if they were really so different.

The choice of the encounter was taken from him that night as he was pulled from his sleep by the shrill wailings of an alarm or multiple alarms. Bruce barely had a chance to register the sound of JARVIS’ far away words of “Dr. Banner, don’t—” before the other guy’s awareness crashed over him, pushing him down as his body transformed, bulging and expanding in a way that he thought should have been painful (the videos always made him cringe), but the ghost of sensations that he picked up from the other guy only spoke of relief to be free. Pain was caused by little people and loud noises, like the ones that had drawn him from sleep.

When the other guy was in control, Bruce’s consciousness drifted in a sea of sensations, the anger and pain and fear becoming all he knew. But it was all far away as though he was being protected from the worst of it, and that was almost comforting in a way, something that he wished he had when he was younger.

Time meant nothing to Bruce during these instances because it wasn’t a concept that the Hulk truly understood. There was only pain and noise or its absence when the other guy was in control. It was during a time of no noise or pain that Bruce felt himself slipping back into control, the other guy backing away. But suddenly Clint was there, close, too close, bow in hand, and upon seeing the weapon, however small the threat might have been, it brought the other guy surging back up to the surface.

This was different as Bruce didn’t back away, sharing a strange dual awareness, watching with horror as he rushed forward and his hand/the other guy’s hand shot out and grabbed Clint. _NO!_ Bruce shouted in his head as the other guy roared aloud. This was why he kept away, why he didn’t get close to people, and Bruce wished for nothing more than to be able to close his eyes against what he knew was about to happen.

But instead of tightening or throwing his handful, the other guy abruptly loosened his grip, leaving Clint to fall to floor as he backed away. Bruce wasn’t sure if he or Clint was more shocked at the words that he felt more than heard.

“Bruce no want Hulk hurt Cupid-bird-man.”

As the other guy made an abrupt exit, Bruce had a moment to feel annoyance that this wasn’t how he imagined the first time Clint saw him naked would go before darkness swept him away.

Upon awakening, Bruce knew instantly that this wasn’t his room; the bed was too soft, the lighting was different, and the pillow smelled wonderful. Rolling over and up carefully, mindful of his various aches that always followed his shift back, Bruce certainly didn’t expect to find Clint sitting beside the bed, feet propped up and book forgotten in his lap, sound asleep.

Or not so sound, as a brief flutter of lashes signaled his awakening before sleepy blue eyes were revealed. The smile that crossed Clint’s face upon seeing that Bruce was awake made his heart twist in an odd way. It was only then that he noticed that he was shirtless, though a brief glance revealed that someone at least had put some pants on him. He wondered if it was Clint.

“What time is it?” Bruce closed his eyes at the stupid words as with a grin Clint gestured towards the giant, glowing digital clock on the nightstand beside him.

“It’s been just over twenty four hours. We were beginning to worry,” Clint said as he set the book aside, dropping his feet to the ground and rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders.

Bruce nodded because two to twelve hours was his norm, but twenty four hours wasn’t unheard of. Curious, he looked around the room, taking note that it wasn’t one of the usual guest suites that Tony usually stuck him in after Bruce trashed his rooms. He took note of the neatly folded pile of clothing at the end of the bed—his own. There was a very good reason that most of his belongings were split between multiple rooms, why worldly possessions meant little to him—they all were so easily destroyed in the end. The walls were a deep purple, almost black where the weak light from the lamp didn’t reach and the room had a lived-in look that Tony’s interior designers could never manage to capture with all their little details.

Even though, he’d never been in, never so much as stepped foot in the other man’s quarters, it was obvious: this was Clint’s bedroom.

Bruce’s heart rate picked up, and he mentally said a prayer that JARVIS would keep quiet for once. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but why am I here? There was no reason to put yourself out for me.”

Clint shrugged, a small move, nonchalant, but his words were anything but. “I don't sleep much these days. You needed it more than me. And the others agreed: we need to talk.”

It was easy to read between the lines. The surge of indignation and anger had the other guy rising up slightly, and Bruce didn’t fight it. But there was no threat, not really, so it was unlikely that the Hulk would make an appearance again so soon after his last transformation without it, not unless Bruce pushed for it. That didn’t stop Bruce from swinging his legs over the side of bed and rising up as he grabbed for the shirt. “Oh, so the others agreed? What do they have to say? How pathetic is the man who can’t control his rage? How desperate he must be to—”

“Bruce, calm—”

Bruce rounded on him, suddenly in Clint’s space, knocking the chair over as Bruce backed him against a wall. “Don’t tell me to calm down,” Bruce hissed. He knew his eyes were green, had to be with this much rage close to the surface. He could feel the other guy there, watching, almost curious, but he made no move to rise and take control.

And Clint didn’t look afraid, wasn’t trying to get away.

It made Bruce angrier because being afraid was the smart thing to do, the rational thing to do. 

“I was jealous at first.” Clint wasn’t looking at him, but somewhere far over his shoulder.

“What?” Bruce asked, confused. Jealous of what? Certainly not him.

Clint’s hands rose to his face, and Bruce fought the urge to flinch back as Clint’s fingers ghosted over his eyelids. “Of this, of the Hulk, of your ability to escape.” Clint’s eyes were suddenly locked on his. “SHIELD would have sacked me if I’d told their shrink that for a time I’d missed what being under Loki’s control meant. The lack of choice, the lack of guilt.”

A laugh escaped Bruce’s mouth, not a humorous one, but a harsh grating sound. He’d been right. “That was a mockery of freedom.”

Clint nodded. “Yes. I realized that.”

“All the time in the lab, what were you really doing?”

“At first, I was trying to work through my head. You were the only one who never asked about it. You didn’t probe, never brought it up. That helped, and I was curious too. And then...” Clint trailed off, a slow flush spreading up his neck.

“I nearly killed you last night,” Bruce said desperately trying to put some distance between them, to regain his footing because he wasn’t good with this.

“But you didn’t. You were in control.”

“It could still happen. No, I really wasn’t.”

“I’m more likely to die of a shark attack.”

Bruce scoffed. “I haven’t seen you swimming in the ocean recently, but living with me is a danger.”

“I don’t just want to live with you.”

Bruce was desperate now. “All the more reason for you to run while you still can.”

“It’s a risk that I’m willing to take.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Clint leaned forwarding, closing the distance between them, capturing Bruce’s mouth in a kiss, both punishing and pleading. When he finally pulled away they were both panting, out of breath and flushed.

“Tell me no, and I’ll stop. Tell me no, and I won’t mention it again.”

A stronger man, a better man, would have, but Bruce was neither of those in this instance. “Don’t stop.” 

Bruce went willingly as Clint pushed him back towards the bed, hating to let go of Clint long enough for him to help Bruce shrug out of his still unbuttoned shirt.

When Bruce’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he fell back pulling Clint with him. Clint had enough forethought to pull his head back and Bruce took the opportunity to tug at Clint’s shirt, wanting to feel skin. It had been far too long, and he knew already that this was going to be over embarrassingly fast. Smooth skin bared, Bruce was almost hesitant to touch. Clint’s fingers began running through the hair on his chest, making patterns and drawing a shudder from him as they trailed over his abdomen. Bruce used to hate it, his body hair as many seemed to find in unattractive, but Clint seemed to have no such hang-ups. 

As Clint’s hand trailed lower, cupping Bruce’s eager cock through his tented pajama bottoms, Bruce groaned and gave into temptation, hands mapping out Clint’s skin. With deft hands, Clint tugged on the pants, tucking the waistband beneath his cock and balls. Bruce wouldn’t let go as Clint tried to sink lower, his intention obvious.

“Not now. Not going to last.” Bruce said against Clint’s kiss-swollen lips. If not for the fact that it was obvious that Clint was equally affected, Bruce might have been embarrassed.

Nodding, Clint settled between Bruce’s legs, and Bruce hissed as Clint’s naked cock slid along his own, having obviously undone his pants at some point. When Clint’s fist wrapped around them, Bruce dug his heels into the bed, and one hand slid down to cup Clint’s ass, urging him closer.

Hips rolling desperately, Clint’s hand slid down Bruce’s side in a soothing matter, but the wild grin on his face belied the action. “This is only the first round.” Dropping his head, he bit hard at Bruce’s shoulder.

“Fuck!” Bruce yelped as he came so hard he saw stars in more than the metaphoric sense, his cum coating Clint’s still-moving fist and dripping onto his stomach.

Bruce’s hand moved, trailing down along the crack between Clint’s ass cheeks before delving between them to tease at his puckered hole, and it was Clint’s turn to come, fist tightening as he shuddered above Bruce adding to the mess between them. And when Clint collapsed heavily atop him, Bruce didn’t complain, instead tightening his arm around him and rolling them to their sides.

It was dumb; Bruce hadn’t cried in years, but suddenly he felt the prickle of tears for no reason whatsoever. Squeezing his eyes shut against them before they could escape, Bruce didn’t expect the feel of Clint’s lips against him, languid and tender.

“Have dinner with me? Tomorrow night? I know this great little hole in the wall Mexican place. Authentic. It’s quiet, secluded. You’ll love it.” Clint’s words were excited, eager.

Bruce found himself nodding because there was no other option. A date. Him on a date. The idea was laughable. For once Bruce let himself hope, imagining that this could last.

Rolling Clint beneath him, Bruce took in Clint’s still passion-slacked featured. He could get used to this. “Want to show me your shower and see about that second round?”

Clint’s smile was a thing of beauty. “Second round?”

“You’re not worn out already, old man?” Bruce snarked, pulling back.

“Old man!?” Clint yelped and followed, though the grin never left his face. “I’ll show you old man.”


End file.
